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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25141519">Touch</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/innie/pseuds/innie'>innie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Salt (2010)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:14:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,182</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25141519</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/innie/pseuds/innie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It should be simple, being touched.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Evelyn Salt &amp; Ted Winter, Mike Krause/Evelyn Salt, Peabody/Evelyn Salt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Juletide 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Touch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedibuttercup/gifts">jedibuttercup</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was fun to write, and I hope it suits!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The only people who have ever known her big secret are now dead, and there's a not-small part of her that, horrifyingly, <i>stupidly</i>, feels safer with them gone.  Her secret is that she likes touch, likes a cuddle, platonic or romantic, just likes being tucked against someone's side and made to feel precious.  Ted used to do it all the time, hook a fraternal arm around her shoulders or neck, roughhouse with her in that big-brother way, and he didn't stop when he sent her out to seduce Mike.</p><p>And Mike was used to handling things delicately.  Mike touched her with reverence, like he couldn't believe his luck that she'd looked twice at him.  Even at that first deliberate meeting in the butterfly garden, he'd been unfathomably gentle, like he knew the future: that her eye might be swollen shut countless times, that the socket might once be fractured, that her ribs might never line up just right again.  Mike touched her like he wanted to heal her even as he would have denied that there was ever anything wrong with her.</p><p>Neither of those options is what she needs now.  They're both dead anyway.</p><p>She wants someone new.  She wants someone who knows what she's capable of.  Add that up — no need to overthink or complicate things — and that means Peabody.</p><p>He's in Belgium, doing his part to tie up loose ends, and it's an easy jump from Amsterdam, where she's been picking off vacationing KA handlers too dumb to look up from the sex they'd paid for.  She's never had a vacation — their honeymoon was in India, where Mike had gotten a grant to study the local <i>Cyclosa</i> species, and she hadn't been so drugged by waking up to the scents of spices to forget that she still had a part to play — and maybe that's what's been giving her a little extra enthusiasm for dispatching these men who thought of her as a pawn and themselves as Grandmasters.   No one will mourn them, and she wonders for a moment if that's revenge enough before coming back to her senses.</p><p>She taps out a brief message to Peabody before her last kill and in just over two hours she's striding through Brussels-Midi/Zuid like any other executive with too little time to take in her surroundings.  He knows that she'll be in the tower suite of the boutique hotel near the Grote Markt and the Musée de la ville de Bruxelles because he's made it his business to know all of her preferences.  It does simplify things.</p><p>She's browsing in De Kuifje winkel, just across the way, wondering what he finds so charming or enthralling about comic books that this shop is where he's been spending his so-called free time, when he finds her.  One look at him in his suit, the lines of his shirt less crisp than they would have been this morning, the knot of his tie sitting slightly askew, and she knows he's waiting for a cue from her to determine whether to classify this as a social call or a professional rendezvous.  And all it took to confuse him is this sharp pantsuit and a refusal to say his name.  Like hell is she calling him Michael.</p><p>She doesn't kiss his cheeks in greeting but she does take his hand, which he interprets as a command to keep his questions in check until they're alone.  He can be so biddable sometimes, and she likes that he's capable of keeping his mouth shut even as his eyes glitter with a fierce intelligence.</p><p>Peabody's hand is warm in hers.  Peabody's touch is enough to take the edge off, even when he's not aware of what she really needs.  Peabody, she decides as she precedes him up the spiral staircase, is going to be <i>fun</i>.</p><p>She doesn't drop his hand the moment the door closes behind them, instead cocking an arch eyebrow his way as he tries to puzzle through what exactly is going on.  He should know she would never have engaged his dominant hand if there were any danger; the fact that it's taking him so long to realize that is a little troubling.</p><p>Or maybe it's a sign that her touch thrills him as much as his comforts her.</p><p>When at last he catches on, his eyes drill down to her mouth.  It's always her mouth — <i>bee-stung</i>, Mike had said, laughing at the expressive English idiom — and she rolls her eyes before giving him at least part of what he wants.  His own mouth is plenty lush, but he is hesitant.  It is an unexpected pleasure to coax him into returning the kiss, and she sinks back against the door, kicking off her heels so that their shoulders no longer line up.  She lifts her chin and his hands are on her face and he seems not to notice that she's undoing every last one of his buttons and zippers and fastenings.</p><p>She's got his cock thick and heavy in her hand before she breaks the kiss.  The eyes he sometimes hides behind wire-rimmed spectacles — the frames are not as adorable as some salesperson must have assured him they were — go wide before they shut.  He looks like he should be on his knees, quailing before an angry god.</p><p>She likes the idea of him kneeling.  She wants to see what fearful rapture she can bring him to.</p><p>And there he is, on his knees, gasping out <i>Evelyn</i> and lifting those broad hands to unbutton her pants and tug her underwear down.  She thinks he balks then, but it turns out that he's just surprised at the color of the curls he uncovers.  "I like you as a brunette," he says, looking up the length of her body to the hair she's kept dyeing black, the better to skulk in the shadows.</p><p>"Mmm," she hums, uninterested in the conversation.  He takes the hint, willingly obedient, and then his mouth is on her, working in tandem with his fingers, and as good as it is, she is acutely aware of his other hand curving tenderly around her bare hip, how every jump in her muscles rolls into him and back to her from the way he's cupping her flesh.</p><p>She comes, vibrating like a live wire, and she likes that he's wide-eyed rather than smug; he's just as smart as he looks, because he keeps his hands wrapped around her, grounding her with his touch.</p><p>He rises up and carries her, half-naked, to the bed.  He knows how to do it — she's raised high enough that his yearning face is tipped helplessly up — and sets her down with a restrained eagerness that looks good on him.  Looking deep into his dark eyes and guiding his hands to her bare waist so he can push the rest of her clothes out of the way, she spreads her legs, and for the first time since she's known him, he smiles back at her.  They're in this, locked in this moment, together.</p><p>The next touch sets off a spark.</p>
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